


Sincerely

by escspace



Series: The Black Hand [1]
Category: Noblesse (Manhwa)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Noir, Flashback Era, Gen, Light Angst, M/M, Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:08:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23147491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/escspace/pseuds/escspace
Summary: Dear Frankenstein,Perhaps it is within your nature to callously criticize me for writing letters you will never read, but it has been one hundred years since you’ve departed from Lukedonia, and I find myself wistful. Perhaps you would call me foolish, if you were here...
Relationships: Frankenstein (Noblesse)/Ragar Kertia
Series: The Black Hand [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1667107
Comments: 13
Kudos: 31
Collections: Desire for the Decades





	1. Chapter 1

Dear Frankenstein,

Perhaps it is within your nature to callously criticize me for writing letters you will never read, but it has been one hundred years since you’ve departed from Lukedonia, and I find myself wistful. Perhaps you would call me foolish, if you were here.

Try as hard as we might, we have yet to find anything of Sir Raizel’s whereabouts. Most have simply given up. I hope you have had better luck. Perhaps you are with him right now, in a new home, in a new land, serving him tea and basking in his peace, as you have always done. Perhaps you are happy. I hope you are.

I know you and Gejutel are fond of your charades and bluffs, but I believe you will be pleased to know that he remains in good health and has produced an honorable heir who will take over as the Landegre clan leader before very long. Perhaps once you return to Lukedonia with Sir Raizel safe and in your company, you will be greeted by the new shining face of the clan, and perhaps then, we may meet again as we have promised each other.

Sincerely,

Ragar Kertia

* * *

Dear Frankenstein,

Rajak Kertia is the name of my child. His silence is as steady as my own, and he takes his fledgling clan leader duties with utmost seriousness. I will admit, however, that in appearance, he has a vague resemblance to you. I assure you, this was not entirely intentional on my part, but I do tell him stories, at times. He enjoys the one of our first encounter.

I wonder if you remember that night. It is fine if you do not. I will remind you; I have never forgotten it. You showed us — Gejutel and me — both the horrors of your Dark Spear and the horrors of our own people. The part my son enjoys, however, is when you fooled us both with your simple human cunning and fled to Sir Raizel’s home, of all places.

I am eternally grateful for the night.

Do not tell Gejutel I have told you this.

Sincerely,

Ragar Kertia

* * *

Dear Frankenstein,

Today is a momentous day. It is the day our Lord steps down to pass the throne to Lady Raskreia. She is as graceful, as powerful, and as astute as any. However, I believe she is still rather young to be the new Lord, but I will not question His wisdom in choosing to do this now.

My second child, Rael Kertia, is not as silent and severe as Rajak. He has very much to learn in how to present himself with both pride and grace and is at times vindictive, but I trust that his older sibling will teach him well.

Perhaps you will recall, a long time ago, I had discussed the possibility of splitting soul weapons. I have begun that project now with Kartas. I hope to pass on the soul weapon to both of my children before I enter eternal sleep with the Lord.

I still await your appearance; I will introduce you to my heirs. I will wait for our meeting until it is time for me to go with the others.

Sincerely,

Ragar Kertia

* * *

Dear Frankenstein,

I find my time idle. I find myself listless. The clan leaders here do not spar like you do. They do not crave and cut like you do. I still remember Dark Spear’s touch against my skin. It is a terrible thing, but, curiously, I look upon it with a well worn fondness.

You would likely find me absurd.

Sincerely,

Ragar Kertia

* * *

Dear Frankenstein,

You are right. You have always been right about us. We nobles are no less vicious, no less greedy, and no less corrupt than anyone. Two clan leaders have been killed, one of them is Gejutel’s own, the other is the Loyard clan leader. Seira J. Loyard, a mere child, has taken on the role of clan leader. She has had to grow up far too quickly in these trying times. Lukedonia has been betrayed.

I fear something terrible has happened to Sir Raizel. I hope you have found him. I hope you are safe.

Sincerely,

Ragar Kertia

* * *

Dear Frankenstein,

Of our generation, only Gejutel and I remain. The others have passed on, along with the previous Lord. I will join them as well, very soon. I will go, and Kartas and Grandia will be inherited by Rajak and Rael, respectively.

I think about you, even now. Gejutel asks me why I am so ‘enamored with that human?’

Frankenstein, I had felt nothing and learned nothing for a thousand years until I had met you.

I hope to see you soon.

Sincerely,

Ragar Kertia

* * *

Dear Frankenstein,

I remain. I know I am not supposed to be here; I know that as the honorable, dutiful leader of the Kertia Clan, I should follow our Lord into eternal slumber. But Frankenstein, you are late. It is indecorous to be so late.

Rajak and Rael have their soul weapons now. After I write this final letter, I will go to the shore, the one on which you and I had parted ways, and I too will leave Lukedonia, and I will find you. I have waited for you for many long years. I hope you will wait for me as well.

We will see each other soon.

Your Friend,

Ragar


	2. Chapter 2

The cold wind bites at his skin even past his mask and clothing. It chills him entirely and unsympathetically as Ragar finds a mediocre ledge to stand under in a futile attempt at staying somewhat dry in the downpour. Rain drips from the ends of his hair and long black, Lukedonian coat. He crouches down, sitting on his haunches, and wraps his arms around each other on his knees. Sighing, he lowers his head until his chin rests on his damp sleeves. Huddled against the dingy brick wall, he stares silently into the distance, wondering and wondering.

People pass him without a glance, scurrying hurriedly, their shoes splashing in rainwater that reflects the dark, gray sky. Cars rumble against the road, going this way and that way, uninspiring to Ragar’s search.

He is lost. Penniless in a foreign land with foreign people, and he does not even know if he is any closer to finding Frankenstein — his friend, his myth, memories and promises still so lucid to him, as if to haunt him.

His listless, focus-less gaze is interrupted by a looming shadow completely encompassing his thin, curled up form. When Ragar looks up, curious but no more enthusiastic, a broad, aged gentleman is smiling down at him. In his hand is an umbrella, angled so that it provides Ragar with a momentary escape from the weather. The man’s pristine beige suit becomes spotted with rain. “Are you alright?” he asks.

Ragar watches him for a second, then nods. “I am alright.”

“You look like you’ve been out here for a while. Are you waiting for someone?”

Ragar considers this, and he asks himself the same question. He asks it time and time again. He has spent so long waiting. He stands then, smoothly and elegantly, causing the man to step back, surprise momentarily crossing his face at the reveal of Ragar’s height. “No, I am not waiting,” he says.

The man smiles up at him, friendly. “Then would you care to get out of the rain with me?”

* * *

That night, the man ushers Ragar into his glossy black limousine, and they are driven to a house upon a hill with lawns of green grass and even more green notes.

That night, the man ushers Ragar into his bedroom.

That night, the man strips him down, touches him in places Ragar has never revealed to anyone before, and makes him feel strange things in strange places.

That morning, Ragar collects a healthy stack of cash amounting to $1,200 from him.

* * *

The following week, they see each other again.

* * *

Ragar pulls out a little black notebook from the pocket of his black leather bomber jacket and thumbs through the pages, numerous names, numbers, and addresses flickering in his vision until he finds the right client. Reminding himself of the street of their meeting place, he briskly walks away.

The clients he entertains for hefty hourly rates are old conservative types, comfortable in their wealth but desperate for the fantasy of romance and class.

Ragar’s face and name are passed around in hushed, shadowed conversations.

He arrives at the sunbathed, picket-fenced home of a Mr. Montgomery. The front door is already unlocked when he approaches, and he steps inside.

In the streaming light before his window, laid out like dramatic tableau, is the body of a silver-haired man. His gray eyes are open wide, unblinking and unseeing. Blood trails from his lips, down his face, and onto the heavy wooden dining table. White porcelain lies like still life shattered on the floor, food and coffee spilled over, mixing in with the blood that drips over the edge of the table and the chair.

Slowly, Ragar walks up the man. He has been stabbed through in the back numerous times, but looking around, Ragar spots no possible murder weapon that would cause such wounds. He carefully scrutinizes the corpse, eyes narrowed with intensity.

The blood is made even more graphic and striking by the whiteness of the man’s expensive suit. Still clutched in his stiff fingers are a crumpled napkin.

Ragar stills. Tentatively, he reaches out and brushes the napkin with the tips of his fingers. It is blackened at the edges, and it flakes away and disintegrates at his touch. Ragar knows this is not the result of mere burning. It is rot, and a rot he personally knows.

He slips the napkin from the dead man’s hand, tucks it into his pocket, and walks away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is meant to be a brief prologue to a possible noir AU that I may or may not get to. Those of you who were there for the conversation in the Cadiscord know what’s up.


End file.
